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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27201001">To Make Our Lives a Blessing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshirecrime/pseuds/cheshirecrime'>cheshirecrime</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Childhood Memories, Gen, I don't know how tags work, I promise im not a martin kinnie, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jewish Martin Blackwood, Kinda, M/M, The Magnus Archives Season 5, because I said so, this is basically just my feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:36:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,597</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27201001</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshirecrime/pseuds/cheshirecrime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Various thoughts regarding Martin's favorite prayer from synagogue.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>To Make Our Lives a Blessing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Martin doesn’t know exactly when the prayer became stuck in his head. The hell world he’d been trekking through had a number of unpleasant earworms to be found, though, so it was a welcome distraction. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mi Shebeirach</span>
  </em>
  <span> had been one of his favorites back when he went to religious school on the weekends as a kid. He thought it was a pretty song even long before it became all too relevant. Something about it centered him, lost him in the words. Right now, he’s anxious. He always is, nowadays. Very little that he finds calming still exists. Jon was quite a few steps ahead of him, just slightly out of earshot and knee-deep in a statement. Martin began to sing. Softly; even he could barely hear it. But the familiar pattern of words and melody overcame him as he prayed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Mi shebeirach avoteinu…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin still has no idea where his father is. He doesn’t really want to know. He’s avoided thinking about it for 20 years now, and doesn’t really see a reason to start now. Maybe he’s already dead. Spared from this hell. That doesn’t really make him feel better. Maybe he’s in one of these domains, living out his worst fears. Maybe Martin has already visited him. Walked across his unrecognizable still-living remains. Out loud, Martin would say he doesn’t wish that on anyone. He doesn’t want to know what his honest answer would actually be.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>M’kor hab’racha l’imoteinu…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe Martin is glad his mother died before the change. She certainly had been through enough fear and pain as it was. Maybe he’s not. He still misses her, sometimes. Even with the knowledge that she would never miss him clawing away at his brain. He tries not to think of where she would be in this hellscape, but he can’t really fight it. He never particularly likes hearing Jon’s statements, but Martin was especially grateful not to have heard the details of that hospital. He could observe the horror well enough himself. The endless cycle of “</span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe this treatment will make things better”</span>
  </em>
  <span> was one he knew all too well. Maybe her greatest fear was something else, but he has a sinking feeling that she’d be one of those patients, going through surgery after surgery at the behest of faceless doctors.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>May the source of strength who blessed the ones before us…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Back before the world ended he spoke with the rabbi often, especially after his mother got worse. Even after things got bad at the archives. He didn’t tell specifics, of course, but it was nice to talk. It troubles him, sometimes, that he may be the only practicing Jew left able to carry on what traditions he can. They’d always been survivors. No matter who tried to wipe his people out over the years, whatever harassment and danger he faced, he knew somehow his people would live on. He just didn’t think he’d be personally responsible for making sure they did. He doesn’t remember most of the prayers, doesn’t know how he’s really supposed to practice. It’s a trivial worry, in the circumstances, but still one that bothers him. He knows he could ask Jon, but that feels like cheating. He’s supposed to know this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Help us find the courage to make our lives a blessing…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe practicing right now really does just mean surviving. If he and Jon can somehow manage to right the world, that has to be some type of holy act. Technically, it’s one of the base principles of Judaism: </span>
  <em>
    <span>tikkun olam</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “To heal the world.” He wasn’t given this position in the new world as some kind of miracle or divine act; it was pure dumb luck. But he has to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> with it, doesn’t he? He has to believe he can do good here. Even if Martin can’t, surely Jon can. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And let us say: amen…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin doesn’t know if he believes in god. Truth be told, he never really cared. He’s Jewish by culture, by inheritance, by values. The specific metaphysical beliefs never factored into it. He had much more interest in what he could know and observe, as ironic as that may seem in the line of work he was in. Whether god existed didn’t matter to him because it wouldn’t change the problems he faced or how they needed to be solved. God hasn’t interfered yet, and if things change, it's human action- either ordinary or eldritch ritual- that does it. It wasn’t god that ended the world, it was Martin’s boyfriend. It won’t be god who brings it back. He can only hope that will be his boyfriend too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Mi shebeirach imoteinu…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon is helpful, in his way. Cryptic half-answers and unhelpful explanations aside, Martin wouldn’t want to be with anyone else. Martin doesn’t know how he would even begin to talk about any of these issues to him. Venting to the inhuman who specifically feeds on knowing others’ suffering doesn’t seem like the best idea. Then again, he’d barely need to say a word if he really wanted Jon to know these thoughts. Martin loves him, though. And he knows Jon loves him back. That’s all he has right now. It’s all he might ever have again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>M’kor hab’racha l’avoteinu…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What would “turning the world back” even mean for Martin? He knows he’s already stretching his luck hoping for that, but a small part of him still wonders. What happens next? Do he and Jon survive? Live a normal life? Can they even do that anymore, even in a repaired world? They </span>
  <em>
    <span>got</span>
  </em>
  <span> a taste of normalcy at Salesa’s. It almost killed Jon. Martin won’t even let himself think about the worst case. He doesn’t say the words in his mind, though the thought is horribly present. There is an ending where Martin has to carry on without Jon, and it will not happen. He won’t let it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bless those in need of healing with r’fuah sh’leimah…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hopes to whatever god may or may not exist that this world is not remembered. How do you hope for the world to recover from the worst pain and fear imaginable? When Jon said time didn’t work here, there was a hint of an idea in Martin’s mind. That they could entirely turn the clock back. Make all this have never happened. He hopes he does not have to remember this. He hopes nobody does. Even a true end of the world might be better than this. At least no one would be suffering anymore. It’s a dire hope, and not one he will indulge for longer than he has to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The renewal of body…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It makes Martin sick if he thinks about how long he must have been walking. It makes him sick how tired he isn’t; how he feels absolutely fine, at least physically. He’s never particularly minded having scars. They’re just painful memories made physical, and that’s not all that bad. He even likes some of his. He has an almost heart-shaped burn on his forearm from spilling some tea when he was a teenager. He always told people that he wanted a tattoo of a heart anyway, and is glad he doesn’t have to pay for one. Since the world ended, he hasn’t gained any new scars. He’s gotten a few cuts and scrapes, but they’ve been healed as soon as he stopped thinking about them. He thinks maybe that’s worse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The renewal of spirit…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Out there somewhere is whatever’s keeping him going. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whoever</span>
  </em>
  <span> is keeping him going. He tried so hard not to think about the possibility of his domain. He knew it was there on some level. He could hear it, feel it. He knows their pain, and not in a sympathetic way. He wrote it off as just the general feeling of living in this world. When Jon told him outright about it, he so desperately wished he was surprised. He knows those people’s suffering is what’s keeping him safe, and he wishes he would want to help them. He doesn’t, though. He tells himself he will be helping them when Jon kills Elias. When they find a way to make things right. But the part of him being fed by this world doesn’t really want that either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And let us say: amen.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin doesn’t realize Jon has fallen back in step next to him until the prayer finishes. For once, Martin understands on some level the relief Jon must feel after a statement. Jon doesn’t say anything, for a while.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s nice,” Jon says, softly. “Your singing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” he says. “Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin didn’t know Jon had heard him. He doesn’t know how to feel about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s calming,” Jon mumbles, as if he’s embarrassed. “I apologize if you didn’t want me to hear.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin takes Jon’s hand and begins the prayer again, ever so slightly louder this time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Praying for healing never got Martin much. At least not tangibly. He knows all too well that the prayer doesn’t do anything to heal the ones he loves. This is the only prayer he has memorized. It’s etched onto his heart and brain from years of praying for his mother’s recovery; months of praying for Jon’s. These words have left his mouth through sobs and through smiles. They’re a constant. One of the few things no worms or evil bosses or apocalypses could take from him. This prayer is part of Martin, and that is holy. Maybe it was never meant to heal whoever he sang it for. Maybe all it needs to do is heal him.</span>
</p>
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